


Monarchs of the Damned

by nimmieamee



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, Gangs, bros on revenge dates, poorly-chosen mascots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-07
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-10 11:32:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11126187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nimmieamee/pseuds/nimmieamee
Summary: Jughead gives speeches. Cheryl vows revenge. The town of Riverdale gets a little bit weirder.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Credit where it's due to S.E. Hinton and to _Heathers_ and to a million other movies.

The attack on Fred Andrews so enflamed the town that a jury took only two minutes to find FP Jones guilty of obstruction of justice, contamination of the local water supply, and misuse of a freezing unit. 

They also recommended that he receive five consecutive life sentences for the last offense alone.

"Five _consecutive_ life sentences?" said his son, who was sitting, hunched and pale, in the front row. 

"Sure," said the Honorable Judge Ledgercrook, shrugging. "Works for me. I just want to get this over with. In twenty minutes I have to go sit on the Welcome Back Committee for Hiram Lodge."

"What?" Jughead said. 

"This is unjust!" said the defense attorney who had come in from Greendale to represent FP (as Riverdale had no defense attorneys, Mayor McCoy having recently declared all defense attorneys a hazard to her personal vision of a corruption-free town). "You're railroading my client! You assume without proof that this other man was shot by the Serpents!"

"Oh, absolutely," said the jury member who'd read the verdict. "I thought we were being open about that."

"That's unfair!" Jughead said.

"Now, son," FP said, turning around to look at him. "The law isn't fair."

"That's true," said Judge Ledgercrook.

"I've been no angel, Jughead," FP said sadly. 

Some of the crowd cheered this, and some of the crowd booed FP on principle, and the portion of the crowd that was sitting in the back and trying to figure out what was going on and had only just caught up to the verdict began to cheer the jury and Judge Ledgercrook. So in general the whole room erupted with noise, drowning out whatever FP was going to say next. 

When he stood he was immediately clapped in chains, which Riverdale had a profusion of and didn't need to import from Greendale.

"It's just you now, Jug," he shouted as he was led away. "Get the trailer rented. That way you can make some extra bucks for your mom and Jellybean."

"I will!" Jughead promised.

"Keep your nose clean. Cleaner than me!"

"Always!"

"Don't stop believing, Jug!"

"I won't!" Jughead shouted. "Dad! I won't!"

But a half-second later he thought about this and amended it to, "Wait. Don't stop believing in _what_?"

He got no answer. His father was led away to serve more than five consecutive life sentences. At the door to the courtroom, FP was accosted by Alice Cooper, reporting for the local _Register_. She waved a tape recorder in his face and said, "FP, do you have a statement for the town that has wisely voted to put you away for your lifetime of sordid criminality?"

"No comment, you sexy hag," FP said. 

So the next day all the _Register_ had to print was RUGGED LOCAL MISOGYNIST TO ROT FOR CENTURIES.

Today, though, Alice had brought her daughter along. Or rather, Alice had forbidden her daughter to come along. This produced the same effect. Betty had hotwired the Coopers' second car and trailed Alice to the courtroom, where she squeezed into the back row, strenuously decried the clear miscarriage of justice while taking notes on it for the _Blue and Gold_ , and now made her way to the exit where, on the courthouse steps, she encountered Jughead.

She and Jughead looked at each other. Then, awkwardly, they looked away.

A week previous, they'd been fully prepared to consecrate their love, declare their undying loyalty to each other, and possibly elope to Centreville for a very ill-thought-out quickie teen wedding.

Then Fred Andrews had been shot, Archie Andrews had had a minor (and very understandable) breakdown about it that had required Betty's attention, Archie had declared his love to Betty in the hospital over his father's comatose body, numerous people had reminded Betty that actually everybody had always thought she would end up with Archie anyway, Betty's best friend Veronica had dumped Archie for confessing his love to someone else, and Archie had asked Betty out.

Also, Jughead had joined a gang.

That kind of thing could really put a damper on a relationship.

-

But aside from being dumped for Archie and having to watch the town condemn his father, Jughead's life wasn't going too badly.

His foster family was warm and welcoming. His new teachers cried with joy when they read his writing ("He's on grade level!" sobbed South Side High's student dean. "Jesus Christ! I thought we'd never get one like that!"). And he'd even been named 'South Side Boy with the Most Pep' after he showed up on South Side High spirit day accidentally wearing the school colors.

"I'm wearing black," he'd pointed out.

"Exactly!" said Principal Junkheap, handing him a paper mache trophy to the sound of delighted hoots from most of the students in the gymnasium-slash-auditorium-slash-lunch room. Then Junkheap gestured at a large black circle on the wall. 

"As black as the school seal. You can't tell because of the graffiti, but you can bet your bottom dollar that underneath all the tagging it comes through clear and true. The South Side High Black Rat, baring its teeth against a background of black!"

"Why is it baring its teeth?" Jughead asked. "Isn't it bad enough to have a rat as a mascot without making it a vicious rat?"

"Well, if it's anything like our rats," said Principal Junkheap, shrugging, "It definitely has rabies."

" _What?_ " Jughead said.

"We're a municipally-owned building and the town won't pay for pest control," said Principal Junkheap, shrugging. "Which reminds me. Stay away from the rats. We can't lose a bright kid like you. You might be the only bright kid we have."

At Riverdale High, being declared a 'bright kid' in front of the entire student body would have 1. never, ever happened to Jughead; and 2. given Reggie Mantle an excuse to bully him even if it _had_ happened.

At South Side, the happy hoots just got louder.

"That's our Jug!" shouted Ricky, who earlier that morning had donated blood for the first time in his life because, he explained to Jughead, "Some day _you_ might need it, and there's a chance me and you could be a match."

"Jughead almost makes me want to care about this school," added Rocco. Jughead had only just met Rocco this morning. Rocco had a long history of cutting school, but had broken his truancy streak today expressly to meet Jughead.

"That's because there's our nobody like Jughead!" said Rita, who had not only read Jughead's manuscript four times in a week but also threatened to knife anyone who criticized it just because some of the words were a little boring and also arranged in boring ways.

"Speech!" said Ricky. 

"Speech!" said Rita.

Principal Junkheap grinned at him. Someone produced a battered microphone. Jughead took it.

At Riverdale High, he'd had so much he wanted to communicate to people. About the surreal nightmare of losing someone like Jason Blossom, the town's golden boy. About the darkness that crept around every sunny corner of their town, lurking behind the slogans and the syrup and the pep rallies. About the hypocrisy of assuming any of them could ever go back to the gentle feeling that Riverdale could be something like a home. 

But the more time he spent at South Side High, the less he had to offer on that topic, because South Side High, though hideous and rat-infested, certainly didn't feel _un_ -homey.

"I don't really have much to say," he began.

No one booed him. People just looked kind of disappointed. 

"I think we could have a better mascot than a rabies-addled rat," he suggested. Multiple people, including Principal Junkheap, pulled out pens and pads and noted this. One student apparently didn't have pen or pad, because he started graffitiing DOWN WITH THE GODDAMN RAT on the walls.

"No-- don't do that," Jughead said. "I-- look. You guys leave me speechless. This signals a peculiar kind of irony, believe me, because I am normally full of words. I've been, my whole life, the town's silent chronicler. I should by all rights not be noticed. I should be left to the shadows to record the dark essence of Riverdale, the brutality that this town so tries to hide--"

"Oh boy. It's just like in his novel," said Rita. 

What amazed Jughead was how fondly she said it, like a part of her liked the novel despite all the boring parts. 

Several people started hooting and clapping. But then a long-haired, shaggy kind of dog wandered in and Principal Junkheap began to berate Ricky about it.

"Hot Dog's Jughead's now," Ricky protested. 

"Oh," said Junkheap, subsiding. "Well, he's a beautiful dog, then. Bring him to school anytime. As long as he checks all weapons and cell phones with the security guards at the front. You know that's the rule here at South Side High."

Then, sadly, "That's what makes us the worst school in town."

It really was the worst school in town. Jughead should not have thrived there. But two days after spirit day, Jughead was nevertheless voted student body president. He hadn't run for the position or anything. People at South Side High just liked him.

-

Meanwhile, at Riverdale High, Cheryl Blossom was being denied re-entry to the Vixens.

"Technically you would have to pass a mental health examination to engage in any athletic activities again, Cheryl," said Principal Weatherbee. "Also, you need to sign the new school anti-suicide pledge."

The pledge said:

"I , __________________________ [STUDENT NAME HERE], hereby swear not to commit suicide on school grounds and to immediately alert an adult if I ever feel the urge to commit suicide on school grounds.

TEENAGE SUICIDE: DON'T DO IT"

Cheryl stared at this. Then she opened her mouth and screamed so loud that Weatherbee nearly fell out of his chair. 

It took three of the Bulldogs to calm her. And she didn't _calm_ so much as her screams morphed into informing Weatherbee that he was a drain on the public coffers and a grisly, second-rate Elmer Fudd.

"Cheryl, calm down!" Archie Andrews told her desperately. "We all had to sign the suicide pledge! Not just you just because you tried to kill yourself!"

"Cheryl tried to kill herself?" Reggie said.

"You didn't know?" said Archie.

Archie had very heroically saved Cheryl's life a few weeks prior, but Cheryl still felt completely within her rights to try and scratch his eyes out. Secretly, Reggie also thought she was completely within her rights. He didn't so much help Archie as quietly trip Moose so that Moose couldn't help him.

This was how Cheryl managed to win a fight against three of the Bulldogs. Fight won, she stood up, straightened her miniskirt, patted down her hair, and fixed Weatherbee with a look.

"Mark my words, you colossal windbag of trash, you will regret your choices today," she said.

Then she turned on her heel and excused herself from school for the day, because fuck that.

She had only come to school, finally, because the grisly husk of Thornhill was becoming too depressing to bear. Only four rooms had survived intact: the kitchen, the downstairs bathroom, the great hall, and the conservatory. Penelope haunted all of these, wailing and very drunk, cursing Cheryl with every breath. That was, if not fine, then at least expected. But Nana Rose was also there, gnawing hard biscuits by the smoke-stained door of the pantry. And every time Cheryl looked at Nana she would remember with a guilty pang that she had almost burned her grandmother alive.

Cheryl hadn't had the best month. The best four months. Actually, not even the best year or lifetime. And permanently losing the Vixens made it all a little bit worse.

But she was doing better than she had been. She felt newer, fresher. Truly purified. It was amazing what burning down your ancestral home could do for you, when you needed to feel in control. And she was a Blossom, whatever that was worth. The Blossoms had revealed themselves to be a treacherous, brutal lot, but then hadn't they always been? Vicious, manipulative, dominating people. So in hindsight, Cheryl's father being a murderer wasn't that surprising. What was surprising was how normal Blossom-hood had been to Cheryl, to Jason, to the whole town. The whole town had acted as though the gothic family on the hill was not only normal, but trusted, welcome, and beloved. Until the Blossom murder-suicide became the town's dirty secret. No one mentioned it. No one printed Jason's picture or bothered to examine what had killed him. Principal Weatherbee instituted a suicide pledge and Sheriff Keller made in-class presentations titled "Why You Shouldn't Trust South Siders or Kill Your Family" and Mayor McCoy spoke vaguely about corruption, and that, for Riverdale, was enough.

Cheryl felt betrayed.

She deserved -- Jay-Jay deserved -- a more splendid fallout than this. At least an acknowledgement. At least a damn apology for the years spent convincing Cheryl and Jason that their family was a good one. 

She was going to get that apology. 

And if not, she was going to make the whole town see red.

-

The weekend before Halloween, the Serpents called a meeting at the trailer.

Or rather, they called a meeting in the lot right next to the trailer, and Ricky furtively approached Jughead at school about it.

He said, "Crazy Ed said to tell you so's you'd know and wouldn't be surprised."

Then he looked at Jughead expectantly. Jughead sighed and said, "Would you like to meet _in_ the trailer?"

And Ricky looked relieved and said, "That'd be good, thanks."

It was unclear to everyone -- Ricky, Rocco, Rita, Viper, Venom, Vixen, Smokes, Scuds, Spits, Hatchet, Bloodhound, Ponyboy, Repo, Ratface, Rotgut, Crazy Ed, Harley Twist, Theodore Walpole Esq., and Jughead himself -- exactly how Jughead fit into the Serpents. 

"I'm just an honorary member," he'd protested to Betty.

"Jug, it's not a frat!" Betty had said. "It's a gang. They're not really inviting you to join on an honorary basis!"

"The Serpents aren't a _gang_ -gang," Jughead said. "All they do is deal dime bags of weed. My dad said so."

"Thanks to his Serpent connections, your dad is facing a minimum of twenty years for misuse of a freezing unit," Betty had pointed out, which Jughead had felt was kind of a low blow. 

He felt vindicated when most of the Serpents, on arriving at the trailer, did things like politely offer housewarming presents (flowers, fruit, brand new denim jackets with the security tags still on) and take off their shoes at the door.

"You fixed it up so nice," said Crazy Ed, a heavyset, bearded Serpent who had risen to take FP's place as gang leader. "Be a shame to track mud in. What's this carpet? Fancy damn carpet."

"It's, uh, shag," Jughead said.

"Amazing," said Crazy Ed. "Antique damn carpet."

He settled himself on the couch, next to four or five other Serpents who were perched on the armrests or lounging on FP's threadbare cushions. Jughead got the impression that most of the Serpents had never actually been invited inside the trailer before -- like, amazingly, his father had set up clear limits between criminal and home life at some point after Jughead had moved out -- and so even though the gang was packed into a very small space, they all looked excited and interested to be here. 

"So," Crazy Ed began, once everyone had arrived. 

"So," Jughead said.

His next words, he knew, should be: "Thank you for spending the past few weeks tailing me in your motorcycles to defend me from retaliatory North Side attacks, but I've thought about it, and I've decided I don't actually feel like becoming a small-time dealer. Also, I miss my girlfriend."

Only maybe not the girlfriend bit, since every time he prodded that he felt dead and bitter about it, like he should have known that was coming.

His hands tightened in Hot Dog's fur. He found that he couldn't get any words out after all. 

"We're getting you a bike," Crazy Ed said, apropos of nothing. "Boy should have a bike."

"Thanks," Jughead said.

"And Rotgut's gonna cover your parent-teacher meetings," said Crazy Ed. "We handled that with your foster family."

"Cool," said Jughead.

Crazy Ed added, "Also, Esquire over there's gonna put you down as a dependent on his secondary insurance--"

"That's not necessary--"

"--just so you get vision and dental covered--"

"I'm not going to deal for you!" Jughead said.

It had to be said. Even if he was abandoned by his new criminal family, or lost the adulation the South Side gave him, or worse: lost the Serpents' protection and was left to the mercies of Riverdale itself --

He just didn't think he had it in him to turn weed dealer. 

He could take isolation, social shunning, and the life of a miserable outcast. He'd lived that way for basically sixteen years. But genuine gang activity? Jughead couldn't even pass gym class. He definitely wouldn't survive a South side shootout over twenty grams of substandard cannabis. Plus, he'd promised his father that he would keep his nose clean.

But now Crazy Ed just stared at him in amazement, like he couldn't figure out why Jughead would even mention drugs. 

"Of course not, kid," he said. "Shoot, you know how long it takes to train a decent dealer? You've gotta put in time. You haven't got time, not with all your novel-writing and your hipster photography and your sad movie marathons. Your dad told us you were an artist. A visionary. We're not asking you to change that. We were wondering, though, if you could help us out with something."

Before he could explain what that something was, however, there was a loud knock and the door to the trailer flew open.

Cheryl Blossom walked in. Half of the Serpents now had guns trained on her, but she ignored them and, with a roll of her eyes, turned to Jughead. Her hair looked stunning, her leather miniskirt set her legs off to perfection, and her snakeskin thigh-high boots were oddly appropriate for the occasion.

"I heard you're renting this miserable blue collar cinder block," she told Jughead, without preamble. "My Nana has a small widow's stipend. She and I will be taking it. We'll move in on Monday, which is before November starts, but we'll waive any claim to our security deposit if that makes you feel better."

"What?" Jughead said.

Cheryl looked out at the assembled Serpents, at Jughead's new jacket, at the dog that was barking furiously at her until Ricky hissed, "Hot Dog, take it down. That's a _lady_."

"Oh goody. It's gang enrollment month," she said. "That lets me kill two birds with one stone."

"You want to sign up for the Serpents?" Jughead said. "Wait -- you're moving to the South Side?"

Cheryl looked at him coolly.

"I'm tired of rotting in heaven," she said. "I think it's high time I ruled in hell."


	2. Chapter 2

"You haven't thought this through," Jughead Jones hissed at Cheryl on the afternoon she moved in. 

It was Halloween. On the North Side of town, kids were already going door to door dressed in bedsheets and giant felt pumpkins, their candy bags bulging. On the South Side, kids were wisely staying home to avoid the annual onslaught of South Side razor blade attacks. Except for the Serpent kids, who were gamely hoisting Nana into the trailer and carrying Cheryl's luggage in from the car.

"Careful with that," she snapped at one. "It has my venus flytrap seeds, a tin of ashes from my old house, and six locks of my dead brother's hair."

The Serpent looked impressed.

"Lady, I don't know what's wrong with you, but I like it," he said.

"Thank you," Cheryl said. And then, because she was comfortable with lying: "Your easily-won loyalty will be repaid with mercy when I come to dominate your sad little neighborhood."

The Serpent beamed at her. Cheryl waved him away. 

"Crazy Ed tells me there's a gang summit tonight," she told Jughead now. "Us, the Savages, the Scorpions, the Hatchets, the Ghosts, the Lizzies, the Girls from St. Bernadette's, the Sharks, the Jets, the Swiffer Wetjets--"

"--the swiffer wetjets?"

"I didn't name them," Cheryl said blithely. "Anyway, everybody says you're going to give a speech."

He stared at her. 

"Who told you that?"

"Everybody," Cheryl repeated.

On the North Side, when you asked people questions (or demanded that they give into your demands while also insulting them, which was really the same thing as asking a question), people tended to look offended. Or cowed. Or, if they were Veronica Lodge, they'd say something like, "Don't be a bitch, Cheryl."

Here on the South Side, all Cheryl had had to do to get answers was corner a bunch of Serpents and say, "The summit, you oversized, poorly-shaved furbies. Spill."

They were all in agreement that Jughead Jones was going to give a speech.

"Damned good speech, I bet," Crazy Ed had said. "If he's anything like his old man, he'll give a damned good speech."

"Remember when FP gave that speech about destroying the Vicious Six to get at their meth operation?" Venom said fondly. "Good speech."

"Good meth operation," Hatchet said, nodding.

"Good destroying," said Crazy Ed with a sigh. "Easy. Since there were only six of them."

"Sorry, do you think vagrant Justin Bieber is going to lead you to victory against the other gangs?" Cheryl had said. "He has the muscles of a teletubby and all the charm of a grave robber."

"That kid," Crazy Ed had told her, in a warning tone, "is FP's. That kid is gonna bring us infamy."

Which just proved that when the education system in a neighborhood went down the toilet, you ended up with a lot of very stupid people. The Serpents had decided to elect Jughead Jones their boy-king. Jughead Jones, perpetually gloomy diner troll. Cheryl couldn't think of a worse candidate for the job.

Even though he did look surprisingly good in the role. He'd traded his sad denim hobo jackets for some very dashing leather. His t-shirts were tight, white, and artfully ripped now. Even the ridiculous beanie was cocked at a decidedly delinquent angle.

"Whatever," Cheryl said now. "It had better not be a boring speech. Or too long. At least don't let it cut into the knifing." 

" _Knifing_?" Jughead said.

"It's a gang summit," Cheryl sad, like she was speaking to a moron.

"Nobody told me--" he began. "Nobody said-- there's not going to be knifing! And no one said I have to give another speech!"

He stomped off with that stiff marionette walk of his, presumably to go corner some Serpents for answers. It was possibly the first thing he'd ever done that Cheryl approved of, so she watched him until he'd turned the corner by the next trailer over. He somehow managed to look dangerous doing it. 

She thought, _take that, Betty Cooper._

And then she really couldn't figure out why she'd thought it. She shook herself a little.

"Child," came Nana's quavery voice from the trailer window. "Child. We have descended into hell."

"I know, Nana," Cheryl said, rolling her eyes.

"The floor is worms, child."

"It's shag," Cheryl said.

-

Across town, Betty Cooper sipped at her strawberry milkshake and tried to avoid locking eyes with the boy in her booth, the girl in the booth behind him, and the boy sitting next to that girl.

"So wait. Are you two friends any more or not?" said Reggie Mantle.

He was dressed as a 'vampire hottie,' which meant he was wearing a designer t-shirt, his Bulldogs jacket, and some plastic fangs. He looked incredible. Veronica was dressed as something that required an extremely sexy uniform. Hard to tell if it was a flight attendant, a nurse, or a police woman. Might have just been 'woman in a sexy uniform.' Either way, she also looked incredible. 

Archie, while very handsome, did not look incredible, because his father had been shot recently and so he (understandably) hadn't really gotten into the Halloween spirit this year.

Betty had a Nancy Drew outfit hanging in her closet that she'd been planning to wear for months. She had politely forgone it. It didn't seem right to dress up when the town was facing civil war, her ex was out there masquerading as a gangster, Fred Andrews was lying comatose in the hospital, and her childhood best friend was entering a dark tailspin of revenge.

"The Serpents are my menasees," Archie said now, slowly and deliberately, like he was testing out the idea.

"Sorry," Reggie said. "What is a menasee?"

"Reggie," Betty said desperately. "Can't you pay attention to your own date?"

"Oh, so Archie Endgame is on a date after all," Veronica said coolly.

"No," Betty began. "I didn't _say_ that--"

She didn't want to be fighting with Ronnie like this. 

"A menasis is like your rival, Reggie," Archie said. "Your enemy. That's why they're called your menasis, 'cause they're menacing."

"Oh, you mean _nemeses_ ," Reggie said.

Betty tuned them out. She had to settle this with Ronnie. She tried to come up with something polite to say that would resolve this stupid Archie fight, but instead what came out was a vaguely annoyed: "Why did you even come here if you knew Archie and I were going to be here?" 

"This town has one restaurant," Veronica pointed out.

"Well, Archie and I aren't dating, so maybe stop with the rude little comments, Veronica," Betty said.

"Wait, we're not dating?" Archie said. 

Betty stared at him.

Two months ago, she would have done anything, given anything, to date Archie Andrews. But Archie had turned her down. It had been heartbreaking. But it had also allowed Betty to focus on her missing sister, take charge of a murder investigation, and get to know Jughead Jones better. Though obviously not _that_ much better. She hadn't been able to predict that Jughead would join the Serpents. Betty had nothing against the Serpents personally (actually she was still writing _Blue and Gold_ editorials intended to humanize the gang and highlight the pressures faced by Riverdalians of low-income backgrounds), it was just that joining the Serpents was a _bad idea_.

Betty was kind, generous, compassionate, and fair. But she was also the kind of person who, when faced with people making bad decisions, was the first to say, "Hey, wait, that's a really bad decision."

For sixteen years, nobody had listened to her when she'd said this. Betty's mother hadn't listened when a five-year-old Betty, sweet and wise beyond her years, had announced to Alice that it was more important to be a good family than a family that looked perfect. Betty's father hadn't listened when a ten-year-old Betty had discovered feminism and informed him that women had the right to make their own choices. And Polly had never listened to Betty's sixth grade 'Waka waka Whip Out a Condom' sex ed rap presentation. Clearly. 

So for sixteen years, Betty had been very kindly nudging people to make better choices, and people had mostly ignored her.

It was starting to get annoying. And it added insult to injury that Jughead -- who should know better -- took none of her protests about the Serpents seriously. Even when Betty provided him with detailed statistics about things like the rates of incarceration for teen gang members and the shortened lifespans of American males who had more than one run-in with the juvenile justice system.

"Betty," Archie said now. "Betty."

"What?" Betty said. It came out a little more snappish than she intended. She tried for an apologetic smile to make up for that. She almost managed. 

"Yeah, I think when a girl just tunes you out like that, you're probably not really dating," Reggie said.

Archie looked crestfallen. Betty had a brief urge that came from old Betty, an urge to comfort him and say that no, no, of course they were dating. But that urge was swamped by a wave of irritation. The irritation came from the Betty of right now.

"I never said we were dating!" she said. "I just didn't explicitly turn you down, Arch, because you're going through a hard time. But just because a girl doesn't say no doesn't mean she's saying yes!"

"Amen," said Veronica, like she hadn't been fighting with Betty a minute ago.

Archie said, "But I always thought you and me--"

"You clearly didn't _always_ think that," Betty said. "Because you turned me down yourself. God, Archie, make up your mind!"

"Double Amen," said Veronica, nodding.

"Why are you amen-ing me when we're fighting over Archie?" Betty snapped. This time she intended to be snappish.

Veronica gave her a confused look.

"B, we're not fighting," she said. "I'm fighting with Archie. He's the one who dumped me for my best friend. You and me are cool, girl."

"Oh," Betty said.

That was some small relief. But then Archie said, not unkindly, "Ronnie, you've got to tell me when we're fighting because otherwise I won't notice," and Veronica went completely white and started shrieking at him.

"Dick," Reggie said, catching Betty's eye. "What. A. Dick."

"I have a lot on my mind!" Archie said. "My dad was just shot! I have to take revenge on the Serpents! I planned this whole date to do that!"

"You planned a revenge date?" Reggie said.

"Betty loves weird dates," Archie said defensively. 

He wasn't wrong about that. Betty's last romance had included tender moments in front of the murder board, long walks through the corridors of the Sisters of Quiet Mercy, and moonlit epiphanies about family members who were also murder suspects. 

Unfortunately, Archie kept talking. "That's why she was so into Jug! That's why I've gotta go with Betty right now, not Ronnie, right? Because I can't take you on a revenge date, Ronnie. My life is weird right now. And I need the right girl for that."

Now Betty went white, and she didn't start shrieking, but it was a near thing. 

"Makes a weird kind of sense, bro," Reggie said agreeably.

Veronica hit him.

"We're leaving!" she said loudly. "Betty and I are leaving! Come on, B!"

She tugged Betty out of Pop's. She was hissing things about Archie, entitled athletes, and men in general. How Archie Andrews had another thing coming if he thought he was going to trap her and her best friend in some kind of stupid love triangle. Betty wasn't hissing anything, because she was too busy digging her nails into her palms and wondering what Riverdale would be like if she tied Archie to Jughead and drop-kicked them both over a cliff.

That thought scared her. 

"What's wrong?" Veronica said immediately. "Oh my god. That ginger Neanderthal didn't really upset you, did he?"

"I would like," Betty said carefully. "To do violence to him. And Jughead. It's not normal, I know--"

"What? Girl, it's totally normal," said Veronica. "One's your ex and the other one impossibly, embarrassingly, manages to hook like every girl -- present company sadly not excluded -- but it still does _nothing_ for his clear and evident _problems_ \--"

"No, I mean like maple syrup hot tub violence," Betty clarified.

Ronnie's perfect purple lips made a small, understanding 'o.'

"Right," Betty said. "Forget -- forget I said anything--"

"No," Ronnie said. "No. Nope. We have got to talk about this, Betty. No backing out of it again."

She reached for Betty's hands supportively. But all she got for her troubles was a clear look at Betty's crescent-shaped cuts. The 'o' got bigger. Betty felt ashamed, and then miserable because she remembered Jug's reaction and missed that, and then oddly relieved because now she'd shown _two_ people, and neither of them had freaked out at her.

"Okay, so, this isn't normal," Veronica said, "And the hot tub -- not gonna lie to you. Also not normal. But you are clearly under, like, a ton of stress."

"Oh no," Betty said reflexively. "I'm fine."

"No," Veronica said slowly. "You aren't. Your whole wig-trance-self-harm thing is a clear and obvious cry for help. You need to take a spa week. In Centreville. Or Paris. But not here. Because you, B, are turning into a time bomb. You can't solve every problem in this town, and the more you try--"

Just behind Veronica, the door to Pop's opened. Archie and Reggie slid out into the darkening evening. Or Archie slid out, doing that dorky secretive walk he'd perfected in the second grade when he and Betty hadn't had cell phones and he hadn't been all that good at writing, so to communicate they'd had to sneak out to the hedge between their houses. 

Reggie, though, never slid or sneaked. He strode out of Pop's now, with a loud, "No homo, bro. I mean, I'll date anybody who scores above an eight on the Mantle hotness index, but I don't want this getting back to Moose. He's like a seven, and I don't need him getting ideas."

"He's taking Reggie on his revenge date," Betty realized.

"What?" said Veronica. "That _asshole_ \--"

He wasn't, really. He was just -- he was Archie. He always thought he should have a girl for every occasion, or possibly a boy, and he wasn't complicated about it. He would always tell you what his reasoning was. He would never hold grudges if you got mad. He'd just move on eventually. He thought in straight lines, and straight lines left no room for scenes or shouts or overwhelming, upsetting break-ups. And a part of Betty still liked that. 

She knew by now that Archie wasn't the boy for her, but she could understand why, once, she'd assumed he might be.

"Betty!" someone hissed now. Betty looked up. Pop Tate was standing at the door to his diner, beckoning at her.

Pop hardly ever came to the door, so this had to be serious. Even Ronnie was quirking an eyebrow at him.

"Pop," Betty said, smoothing her expression into something calm and approachable. "What's the matter?"

"You know I don't involve myself in things beyond my door," Pop said. "But I couldn't help but overhear Reggie and Archie talking. Seems to me like those two boys are up to a world of trouble. Sounds like they want to interrupt tonight's gang summit at the old warehouse."

"Tonight's _what_?" Betty said.

Pop nodded gravely. 

"Thought you'd be interested in that news," he said, and with a jingle of the door bell, vanished back inside the diner.

**Author's Note:**

> Listen, I don't know where this will end up, but I know this is what 1x13 made me want to write.


End file.
